Charity Begins At Home
by slenderpanda597
Summary: Martina is going to be spending a miserable Christmas alone at home. Well, that was the plan, anyway. But she does need warming up.


(a/n – sorry it is late but this is my Christmas giftfic to the entire fandom, especially Rose, London and Pop for all of your amazing fics this past year. Sorry I haven't been as active in the Bread fandom lately, but life is manic. Enjoy!)

Charity Begins At Home

Martina was, by her own self-definition, a pragmatist. Her clients would disagree, when she told them over the counter about how she did not sympathise with them for having their telly nicked when they had _left their front door unlocked and wide open, for goodness sake._ She told them how, if given an inch, opportunistic thieves would take a mile, and so they should be more careful. Gave them a Merseyside Police leaflet entitled 'Protecting the Home against Theft and Damage' rather than the form for the Stolen Goods Reimbursement Allowance.

More of these clients than ever appeared in the run up to Christmas, and Martina was having to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes too much lest she get a repetitive strain injury from the action. The client leaned over at her.

"This poxy leaflet ain't gonna get me me radio back, is it? And you tell me I 'ad it comin' cos I left me door unlocked? I was only twenty minutes out the house! Yer such a pessimist!"

"For a pessimist, I think you'll find I am rather optimistic, Mrs Dalloway," Martina smiled patronisingly at the woman sat across from her. "That's why I lock me doors. I'm optimistic that I will now go 'ome tonight and not have had any of me possessions jacked. NEXT!" The client stomped away, muttering about how Martina must have it _so easy in her luxurious home in a safe neighbourhood._ The next client swaggered over to her and before she had seen who it was Martina had easily identified who she was going to face next via the scent of his _expensive, no doubt_ cologne.

"Greetings!"

"Hello Mister Boswell, come to try and bleed the state dry to fuel yer festive revelries?" Joey Boswell placed a hand to his chest dramatically.

"Sweetheart, you wound me. How could you think I would claim any money for meself at this time of year?" Martina raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, I came in on behalf of me brothers…" Martina swallowed back a laugh.

"All of 'em?"

"Yes. Well, mainly Adrian. He's, er, got himself a pastime this Christmas, you see."

"Oh yes?"

"Helping. Volunteering. For a charity. Helping those less fortunate than us in these trying times. Why, missy Martina, he's practically being a festive version of yourself!"

"I would have come in meself."

"Weeeelllll, he's busy isn't he? Preparing himself for his volunteering." Joey leaned onto the desk and Martina looked at his forehead so she did not get lost in his gaze. The man gave one of his dazzling smiles. "So, since he is volunteering over Christmas, and gaining valuable experience which may assist him in getting a job, he will not be looking for a job, will he? He's busy. And if I remember correctly-"

"Which, of course, Mister Joey I Am Always Right Boswell, you undoubtedly will be!" Martina spoke in a falsely sickly sweet accent.

"Of course, I thought he might just be able to claim for-"

"The Job Seekers' Experience Scheme!" They said at the same time, and Martina couldn't help the flash of amusement she felt. There was no denying that this man knew the DHSS rulebook inside out. She wouldn't be surprised if Joey Boswell was one day declared the Mastermind winner with the specialist subject of The Many Schemes and Policies of the Department of Health and Social Security. She slapped a form on the desk with its accompanying booklet.

"Get him to fill that in. NEXT!" Joey grinned.

"Thanks sweetheart. Oh, and Martina?"

"Yes, Mister Boswell?"

"Merry Christmas. Enjoy it in yer luxurious home in a safe neighbourhood." He winked and then brushed his lips across her knuckles, leaving Martina momentarily lost for words. He sauntered out in a swish of leather and expensive tastes. Martina turned to her next client, ready for more claims of goods being stolen because doors were left unlocked and wide open.

When finally done for Christmas, Martina stayed behind in order to file all the necessary paperwork away neatly so that in January they could all come back and start afresh. She then showed her face at the council Christmas party, and spent the evening sat by the bar sharing idle gossip and Christmas wishes with her colleagues and the people she only saw once a year at said party but still wished festive greetings upon in some bizarre annual tradition. Last calls were made at the pub they were in, and eventually Martina headed off home, as late as humanely possible. In fact, anyone would think that she didn't want to go home.

They would be right.

It wasn't that Martina disliked her home. No, not at all. _She loathed it._ The clients might joke about her safe neighbourhood and luxury home, but they didn't know the half. Martina lived in a worse location than them: a dark community of dingy flats, where damp seeped through the wallpaper and neighbours dealt drugs in the corridors. All in all, it was a grim existence. But Martina had lost most of her savings to her brother, who had reappeared, supposedly clean, then spent everything Martina gave him on the contents of an off licence, pretty much. Then she had met Shifty, and spent too much on him and his various misdemeanours. So, no. Martina lived in a squalid flat in the darkest corner of Liverpool where she went to bed fearing she would die of pneumonia, and woke up fearing she would die at the hands of one of her neighbours. The only positive was that the flat was so far away from her office that her neighbours collected their dole from a different branch, and so didn't associate her with the council. That, and the fact that Martina left very early each morning and returned as late as possible each night. Her existence was grim.

Christmas was going to be grim, too. Martina knew this because she was not visiting her family; she was not in a relationship; and so she would be spending the whole holiday holed up in her depressing flat.

She went out on Christmas Eve. She needed some food to keep her going while the shops shut for the holiday. Armed with carrier bags of crisps and chocolate and pasta (things that wouldn't go off in her flat), she struggled with her key in the sticky lock the landlord would never bother to fix. So caught up was she in her battle, she did not notice the figure notice her from down the hallway. All she heard was an engine as she closed the door, which was the man driving away in his vehicle.

A leaflet had been dropped through her letterbox, advertising free Christmas dinner at the local parish hall. Martina scoffed. She didn't need charity. Granted, everyone else who lived in her building did: the drug addicts and petty thieves and raging drunks. Martina, however, was just fine with her plain pasta washed down with the not very pleasant tap water, thank you very much. Even if Christmas dinner did sound delightfully tempting.

Christmas Day brought on a whole new level of self-pity and wallowing for Martina. She had received no presents, and had made no Christmas dinner. She hadn't even really bothered decorating her flat for the festive season. The thought crossed her mind to drown her sorrows in the bottle of cheap vodka she knew she had at the back of the kitchen cupboard, but she had seen her brother's demise at the hands of drink, and so rarely hit the bottle. Besides, the bottle was the only thing he had left behind when he disappeared again with her savings. It was a bit twisted how she kept hold of the drink, just out of sight, but never out of mind. She had never been able to completely push her brother out.

Martina had finished her dull and not very Christmassy Christmas dinner and was settled onto her sofa to imagine what the Queen might say in her speech. Her television set was turned off, because she was trying to save on her electricity bill. She pulled a woollen blanket over her in order to try and stop shivering in the cold and damp flat. At some point, her body must have succumbed to the urge to shut down, because she suddenly found herself being jolted awake by a rapping at her door over an hour later. She furrowed her brow, and wandered over to the door, a small (and foolish, she told herself, but she still listened to it nonetheless) part of her hoped that it was her brother, come to wish her a merry Christmas. Upon opening the door and seeing who was on the other side, Martina almost collapsed in shock. Gripping the door frame, she narrowed her eyes.

"Just what the bloody hell do you think you are doing here Mister Boswell?"

"Seasons Greetings to you an' all, Missy Martina! I come bearing gifts!" He produced a Tupperware box wrapped in tinfoil. "Christmas dinner, courtesy of the local church!" She looked at the box, then at him, and he explained. "Oswald asked if we wouldn't mind helpin' him out and cos Mam has the kiddies I said I would. So Adrian can spend Christmas at home, take a break from his Job Seeker's Experience. And since you ignored our leaflet drop, I decided to bring dinner to you!" His confidence really was infuriating, as he bustled past into her living quarters. "Oh Martina, why do you live 'ere?" His voice oozed sympathy. She hated it.

"Just because some of us can't live in Boswell luxury, funded by the state, doesn't mean we need sympathy, Mister Boswell." He turned and smiled at her.

"Call me Joey."

"Not on your life."

Joey shrugged, and went to heat up the Christmas meal in her oven. She sat back on her sofa, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. She was too cold to chuck him out, and besides, it was nice to have some company at Christmas. And a proper Christmas dinner. He brought it back out on two plates (evidently having stolen some for himself), and sat next to her.

"Tuck in, sweetheart."

The food was good. Really good. Not that she would tell him that. A thought crossed her mind about the fact that he was taking better care of her than any of her previous lovers ever had, and she quickly banished it. Mister Boswell was not her lover. And she certainly had never imagined what he would be like in the bedroom department. Not at all. Never crossed her mind. Where was she, anyway? Ah yes, Christmas dinner with Mister Boswell.

He washed up, and then returned, looking around the sparsely decorated and evidently damp flat.

"Are you cold, Martina?"

"What's it to you?" She snapped, not wanting him to send more pity her way. Instead, he shrugged off his leather jacket and spread it over her. She was about to make a comment about rummaging through his pockets, but the heat from the jacket was exquisite. She snuggled further into it, inhaling the scent of leather and the man himself. He shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around her, and Martina immediately pressed herself into his chest. Just for the heat, she told herself. No other reason. The man took far too much from the state, and she would never let him take her. Well, maybe once… NO. Stop those thoughts immediately you stupid woman. Think pure, Christmas thoughts. Jesus wasn't born for you to have naughty thoughts about naughty benefits cheats. Even attractive blonde ones.

She must have dozed off again, because at some point she opened her eyes and realised that she was in her bed, with Mister Boswell still next to her, his arms wrapped around her, making her feel warmer than she had in months. He hadn't noticed she was awake, and she lay still, listening to him breathing. Then he pressed a kiss into her hair, and Martina froze. He didn't seem to notice, and continued caressing her gently. She was still half asleep, and if pressed for information at a later date, she would insist that she had not thought through her next actions, when she rolled over onto him and pressed her lips to his, and the cold skin was soon ignited by his tongue sweeping against hers.

At some point, as the evening of Christmas Day wore on, his shirt had ended up on the floor, and his trousers were somewhere in the vicinity of the bedside table. Her clothes had also managed to somehow leave her body. And yet, Martina felt a lot warmer than she had with them on. Even with only a bedsheet covering both of them, her tucked firmly between the material and the chest of the man she had just let take her. Well, it was Christmas, season of giving and all that. She told herself she was just thanking him for the dinner, and also doing some physical activity to warm herself up. She hadn't taken a single ounce of pleasure from it (more like several tonnes of pleasure, if she was honest). She dozed in and out of consciousness as his hand combed through her hair.

"Mmm… Merry Christmas Joey," she mumbled. He began to chuckle, and she looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

"You called me Joey. You said earlier you wouldn't call me that on my life." She harrumphed and propped her chin up on her hand.

"Well then, Mister Boswell-" she emphasised the name, "looks like I will just have to kill you."

"You already knocked me dead, Ice Queen," Joey smirked, earning him a small slap.

"Well then, I'll just have to double my efforts." Martina smirked back at him, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. Just to warm up, of course

They were interrupted sometime later by Joey's mobile phone ringing.

"Hiya Mam," he looked at Martina apologetically and she just shrugged at him from under the covers. "Yeah, sorry, I've been chatting with one of the ladies who couldn't make it to the Church dinner… Pardon? Oh, yeah, doesn't get out much, that's right. Gets tired." Martina gaped at him and threw a pillow at his back. He choked back a laugh, and she counted it as a win on her behalf. "Yeah, sorry Mam, I'll head back soon. Yeah, I reckon I will visit her more often. Keep her occupied, you know?" He winked at Martina, and she tried hard to fight back a blush. Damn. One all. "How are the kiddies?" His voice rose slightly at the end, as Martina began pressing herself against his back. Two-one. Win to Martina overall, as Joey instead told his mother he would see the kids at home as he was just leaving.

"So you'll be visiting again, will yer, Mister Boswell?"

"Oh yes, dearest lady. Keeping you occupied is going to be my New Year's Resolution."

"Oh really?"  
"Though it'll actually be classed as increasing my charitable donations, because I can claim for that down the DHSS, I hear one of the clerks is keen on me, so watch yer back." He finished tugging on his clothes, and Martina pulled hers on too, before settling back down into bed.

As the night drew in, she contemplated the year ahead. She'd need a new resolution for a start. It was going to be to catch Joey Boswell. Looks like she'd completed that one before the year had even ended.

/finite\\\

(a/n – finally got this done! Hurrah! I hope it is acceptable to you all as a Christmas fic, even if you are receiving it in January. Martina is a minx, isn't she, pretending not to like Joey… Psshh, we see through you, dear lady. Anyway, I hope you all had a good festive season! Happy 2017!)


End file.
